


Visiting the Dead

by Bil



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, Gen, Good Severus Snape, Grief/Mourning, Harry gets the chance to grieve for his parents, Hope, Post-Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-18
Updated: 2021-02-18
Packaged: 2021-03-14 14:08:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,908
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29543544
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bil/pseuds/Bil
Summary: When Harry is stuck at Privet Drive, Hermione takes matters into her own hands and enlists some unexpected aid.OR: In which Hermione has a plan, Harry is confused, and Snape is himself.A "what if" set between GoF and OotP.
Relationships: Harry Potter & Severus Snape, Hermione Granger & Harry Potter
Kudos: 63





	Visiting the Dead

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: JKR’s world. Just playing.
> 
> Prompts: blood-curdling scream, graveyard shift, mentor.
> 
> A/N: In OotP Hermione knew very well that Harry would be upset by the lack of communication that summer (Ron said she was “going spare”); so what if she’d decided to do something about it? And who could she possibly get to help her?
> 
> Snape-friendly. Don’t like, don’t read :)

Night fell over Privet Drive. The streetlights came on and the houses lit up like lanterns, throwing out paths of yellow light across lawns and hedges. The occasional car drove along the darkened road, twin headlights reaching out to wipe away shadows for a moment as they passed. The inhabitants of the street had dinner, settled down for quiet or not-so-quiet evening activities, and then, one by one, the lights blinked off and a deeper darkness began to take hold.

Some lights stayed on longer than others. Dudley Dursley was busy playing video games and brushed off his mother’s loving “Do remember to go to bed, Dudley” as she said goodnight. Harry, whose bedroom was above the living room, fell asleep to the sound of blood-curdling screams as CG characters died horrible deaths under Dudley’s surprisingly adept thumbs. But he slept much of the year in a boys’ dorm and therefore had no trouble sleeping through the noise.

Yet there was a tension in him that didn’t occur in many boys, and so he was woken by a soft sound, barely more than a mouse’s whisper. He woke swiftly but made no movement, listening carefully, ready to reach for his wand. Something had woken him, but he didn’t know what.

Then he heard a soft tapping on the window pane. Making no sound or sudden movements, he slithered a hand out for his wand then slipped out from under the covers and padded over the floorboards on silent feet to the window. A pale face hovered there in the dark, but it was a face he recognised and Harry relaxed and stuck his wand in the band of his sleep shorts so he could open the window. “Hermione!” he whispered. “What are you doing here?” His instant reaction was pleasure at seeing a friendly face – and then he remembered that she hadn’t sent him a single letter since they left Hogwarts two weeks before.

“Can you climb out this window?” she whispered back. He realised that she wasn’t floating in midair, but was standing on a ladder.

“Yes, but—”

“Then come on.”

She started to climb down, but Harry grabbed her wrist. “Hermione, what’s going on?”

“I’ll explain later.”

“Miss Granger,” came an impatient whisper from below. “We haven’t the time for you two to bill and coo on the top of that ladder!”

Harry froze. “That’s—”

“He’s helping me. Come _on_ , Harry.”

“You’re not Hermione. You’re Death Eaters!”

“No, we’re not! Harry—”

“Snape would never help you!”

“You _know_ he’s on our side, Harry. He’s a spy!”

“Yes, but—”

“In third year, the reason you could cast the Patronus to save Sirius was because you thought you saw your father.” She said it very fast and all in one breath.

Almost no one in the whole world knew that. “Hermione?”

“Yes! Now hurry up! We don’t have much time.”

“But it’s _Snape_.”

“He was the only adult I could think of who could possibly recognise how bad you are about not knowing what’s going on. And he understood about Skeeter. Come _on_.”

“He hates me!”

“And he saves your life anyway.”

“He insults you!” Harry said indignantly. “Know-it-all” and “I see no difference” and too many others.

Hermione grimaced. “Ron insults me all the time,” she pointed out, and this was too true to argue over.

“Yes, but Snape’s supposed to be a teacher!” It wasn’t an argument Harry really believed. Teachers had never been trustworthy. They told on him to the Dursleys or hated him for his dad or turned out to be agents of Voldemort. Teachers were not to be trusted. But he had a vague idea that normal people didn’t think like that. That Hermione didn’t think like that.

“Ron,” she said grimly, “is supposed to be one of my best friends.”

“Snape made you _cry_.” He still remembered that with angry clarity, the tears in Hermione’s eyes as she ran away covering her enlarged front teeth.

“Ron does that on a regular basis. Look, Harry, I’m not saying everything Professor Snape has ever done is right, I just think there are more important things to worry about right now. Like getting out of here while we’ve still got time.”

“To go _where_?” he demanded.

“Miss Granger,” came the annoyed whisper from below. “If we are going to execute this ridiculous plan of yours then we must go _now_.”

Harry was quite prepared to dig his toes in but Hermione looked at him, worried and intent, and said, “Harry, do you trust me?”

He looked at her. She was the one person in his life who hadn’t let him down. Ron hadn’t believed him about putting his name in the goblet, Sirius had gone after Wormtail instead of looking after him, Dumbledore hadn’t kept him out of the tournament, McGonagall hadn’t prevented the Potter Stinks badges, Remus had stayed away for twelve years. Only Hermione had stayed with him through everything even when he hadn’t been there for her.

“I trust you,” he said.

“Then come with me.”

He dressed hurriedly and clambered down the ladder after her to stand in front of Snape. Who, despite being a part of clandestine activities after midnight in the Dursleys’ front yard, looked exactly like his usual grumpy self even as Harry tried to study him surreptitiously to see if he was a) really Snape, b) not a Death Eater and c) not about to kill him.

“Stop staring, Potter,” Snape snapped. It certainly sounded like him. Hermione tucked her arm through Snape’s. Harry gaped at her. Snape offered his other arm, despite a forbidding glare. “I will have to apparate us,” he said grimly. “Regrettably I could not acquire us a portkey without alerting certain parties.”

Harry’s recoil was completely instinctive. “No portkeys!” Even the thought of it sent him spinning back to the graveyard where Cedric had died.

Hermione closed her eyes a moment and swallowed hard. Snape’s expression didn’t change, but perhaps his eyes softened a fraction. “I just explained, Mr Potter, that there will be no portkeys. Now hold onto me or be left behind.”

Gingerly and unwillingly, Harry did as he was bid. Sadly, it was impossible to hold on to and to not touch Snape at the same time. “Where are we going?” he asked suspiciously.

“Away,” Snape said.

* * *

Harry staggered and was – for probably the only time _ever_ in his life – glad he was holding onto Snape. Who gave him a whole five seconds to regain his balance before shaking him off.

“Are you okay?” Hermione was at his side.

Harry got control over his stomach. “That was...”

“Apparation. It gets easier with practice.” She grimaced. “But not much.”

“It was like...”

“Like being sucked up a tube and turned inside out and left with your eyes where your ears should be.”

Harry shuddered. “Yes.”

Hermione tried to smile. “At least it wasn’t a portkey.”

“Hurry up,” Snape snapped. “We haven’t much time.”

Harry looked around. “Where are we?” They stood on the outskirts of a small village that slumbered in the night with only a few streetlights showing.

“Godric’s Hollow,” Snape said, and sounded even more snappish than usual. “Walk and talk.” He gathered his cloak around him and stalked down the street.

Harry and Hermione followed. “I had to talk to you, Harry,” she explained. “Professor Dumbledore forbade me from sending any letters that could be used to get to you. He said that when I go to where ever the Weasleys are I can send letters from there, but I got the impression that even then they’ll be censored. So I had to tell you. Promise you, really. I won’t let them stop me writing and even if they won’t let me tell you everything as it’s happening I swear I’ll tell you when I see you again, okay?”

She looked so worried that Harry probably would have said okay to anything, but he was so relieved that he _meant_ it. It was good to know that it was Dumbledore’s orders, not that his friends hated him. Even better to know that Hermione would go to such trouble to make sure he knew what was going on.

Hermione’s whole body sagged with relief. “I was so worried! They were talking as if it would be weeks before I got to talk to you and no one seemed to think it might be important to let _you_ know what was happening – and I know how much you hate not knowing what’s going on so I just _had_ to find a way to let you know.”

“Okay, but _Snape_?” Harry scowled at the dark figure stalking along ahead of them.

“He was the only person I could think of who would actually understand how much you hate not knowing what’s going on _and_ might be willing to do something about it. No one knows we’re here, not even Dumbledore. _Especially_ not Dumbledore.”

“You trust him that much?”

“I didn’t have a choice. I had to at least try. And he came through.”

Harry, awed, tried to imagine how much fast talking she must have had to do to even get a hearing, let alone convince Snape to go along with her plan. Speaking of which... “Where are we going?”

“Don’t _dawdle_ ,” Snape snapped over his shoulder and they hurried their steps.

“Why would you even think of asking him?” Harry asked in an undertone. “I mean, it’s Snape!”

“He’s not as bad as you and Ron make him out to be.”

“No, he’s worse.”

“Oh, Harry,” she said indulgently.

“He gives you awful marks!” Harry said desperately.

“I know,” Hermione said, as if this was a good thing. She saw his expression. “The other teachers – even Professor McGonagall – I think they look at my assignments and say to themselves, Oh, it’s Miss Granger, _she_ knows what she’s talking about. And they tick off that I’ve covered all the points they wanted and move on. Professor Snape doesn’t mark me according to what an average student is capable of, he marks me according to what _I’m_ capable of. He points out where I’ve said the same thing twice or said something not strictly necessary and where I should have expanded on a point. He even gives me references to go look things up. Do you have any idea how long it takes to edit something like that? But he always does it and I’ve learned so much!”

Harry had never before considered that a lenient marker could be a bad thing. And though it wasn’t something that would bother him, he could dimly see why Hermione wouldn’t like it. Hermione wasn’t satisfied with doing well amongst her peers, she wanted to do the best _she_ could.

“I still don’t like him,” he muttered.

Hermione laughed and slipped her hand through his arm. “I don’t expect you to,” she said.

“Okay, then. Where _are_ we going?”

“We’re going to see—Oh, we’re nearly there! Come on, Harry!” She dragged him forward to where Snape was just opening a gate.

To a graveyard.

Harry very nearly had a panic attack right then and there.

But suddenly Snape was in front of him, shaking him by the shoulders. “Mr Potter! You are safe! He is not here!”

Harry gasped, fighting against the memories, Snape’s fingers biting into his shoulders and tying him back to the present.

“This is a good place! You are safe!” Snape shook him again and Harry stared up at him. “I will protect you if need be and Miss Granger is here!”

“Hermione?”

Snape let him go and Hermione hugged him fiercely. “Oh Harry! I’m so sorry! I didn’t think!”

Hermione was here. Voldemort wasn’t. And it was a different graveyard, he could see that now. And, though he would never admit it aloud, Snape’s dark looming presence was reassuring. Snape might be mean and nasty, but that meant he was meaner and nastier than almost anything that might attack them. Harry wrapped his fingers in Hermione’s coat and said, “Why are we here?” in a voice that shook more than he liked.

“Miss Granger wanted you to meet someone,” Snape said. Harry looked at him over Hermione’s shoulder: who could they meet in a graveyard? But there was something in Snape’s eyes (usually so hard to read) and slowly Harry realised why they were there. Hope and awe filled him.

“I’m so sorry, Harry,” Hermione said into his shoulder.

“No, Hermione. You did the right thing.” He managed to let her go. “I’m glad you did it.”

“Then be glad inside, Potter,” Snape said briskly. “We really haven’t much time.”

The professor led the way into the graveyard. And though his robes attempted a version of their usual intimidating sweep it looked like bravado here in this place. Hermione gripped Harry’s hand. Clinging to that comfort, Harry managed to step forward.

Snape didn’t hesitate in picking his way through the tombstones, as if he’d trod this path a hundred times before. Harry hung onto Hermione’s reassuring hand and followed obediently. His fear was subsiding, though; this wasn’t like the graveyard Voldemort had chosen, menacing and forbidding. Even in the dark, this place was friendly; the angels watching over the graves had sympathetic expressions, light from the streetlamps fell on lovingly-placed flowers. Voldemort’s chosen graveyard had felt like a horror movie; this place felt like somewhere to meet friends. He started to look around with interest and didn’t even jump when a hedgehog snuffled out from under a bush.

Then Snape was making a beeline for one particular stone, glowing soft white through the shadows, and Harry stopped dead. There was a spray of dying lily of the valley on the stone, going brown. Snape swept it off and produced a box from his pocket, taking from it a fresh spray. But he didn’t put the flowers down, he paused and looked at Harry. Hermione gave Harry a shove forward and he remembered how to move his feet. Snape held the flowers out to him and Harry took them in numb fingers that seemed to belong to someone else.

Snape looked at the stone. “Lily,” he said, and his voice was quite different to any Harry had ever heard from him. “Lily, here is your son.”

Harry knelt, trembling. Placed the flowers.

 _James Potter_ , he read. _Lily Potter_.

“Hi, Mum,” he said shakily. “Hi, Dad.”

His parents.

His _parents_!

“We can give you only a short time,” Snape said brusquely. Harry nodded. And it was surely only Harry’s imagination that he felt the brush of a reassuring hand on his shoulder as the man passed him, before Snape and Hermione withdrew to give him privacy. Harry knelt there, staring at the names carved into the stone. No one had told him his parents had graves. Dumbledore, McGonagall, Remus, Sirius... No one had told him and he’d never thought to ask.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered. “If I’d known...” He would have hitchhiked across Britain if he’d known. But he hadn’t known and he hadn’t come. Until now.

“Mum...” he said hoarsely. “Dad...” He remembered how he’d first seen his parents in the Mirror of Erised. How he’d last seen them as ghosts out of Voldemort’s wand.

He cried.

He grieved for the parents he never knew, for the life he never had, for Cedric who would never grow up. He cried for all those times he’d wished for the parents who would never come, for all the times he’d longed for a family of his own. He poured out all the tears he’d never had the chance to cry onto the grass before his parents’ grave.

It felt like he spent a lifetime weeping before Hermione and Snape returned. Hermione hugged him, crying too, and he hugged her back, tightly, more grateful than he could ever possibly have said.

Snape sneered at him and produced a large white handkerchief. “Clean yourself up, Potter.”

As Harry obeyed, Snape glanced down at the gravestone as if to ensure everything was in order, then barked, “Miss Granger, kindly check we remain unobserved and no one will see us before we have completed this ridiculous mission of yours.”

“Why Hermione?” Harry asked indignantly, scrubbing tears off his face.

“Because her clothing will attract less attention than mine and you are in no state to do so.”

Hermione patted his arm in reassurance and darted off ahead. Snape followed at a slower pace. “Come on, Potter. Let’s get you back to that wretchedly Muggle house before your minders notice you’ve absconded.”

Harry paused, looking at the grave. His parents’ grave. He’d got to see it. Thanks to Hermione and, weirdly, Snape. He knelt quickly, reaching out a hand to touch the cool stone. “Bye, Mum, Dad. I’ll come and see you when I can. I promise.”

“Potter!”

He chased after Snape. “Professor,” he forced himself to say.

Snape stopped and looked back at him impatiently. Harry wasn’t sure he liked the man any more now, but he thought maybe he understood him better. And maybe he _could_ like him, just a little bit, one day.

“Thank you,” Harry said, and meant it.

Snape moved as if he meant to speak, then changed his mind. He just gave a curt nod before striding away. But as Hermione came trotting back to them, taking Harry’s hand and squeezing it reassuringly, Harry was pretty sure Snape understood. ~~~~

_Fin_


End file.
